


time is running backwards every single day

by egelantier



Series: drabbles and flashfics [45]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Episode Ignis Verse 2, Triple Drabble, World of Ruin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-10 18:56:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15297870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/egelantier/pseuds/egelantier
Summary: “I refuse,” Ravus says, punctuating each word with another shake, “to be your substitute sacrificial altar. Save it for your disgrace of a king.”





	time is running backwards every single day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Caracalliope](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caracalliope/gifts).



“Don’t you _dare_ ,” Ravus growls, and slams Scientia into the wall of the royal tomb for the emphasis; the dull sound of impact fails to bring him any satisfaction. 

Scientia stares back at him with a serene and unrepentant conviction of a born martyr; Ravus’ hands, clenched in the lapels of his shirt, are drenched to the elbows in Scientia’s blood. He’s pushed Ravus out of the way of the attacking daemon just moments ago, earning himself a disemboweling strike, and if not for that last potion...

“I refuse,” Ravus says, punctuating each word with another shake, “to be your substitute sacrificial altar. Save it for your disgrace of a king.” 

Scientia smiles at him, the sharp notch of a scar pulling at his lip. His expression, for a moment, is unbearably like Luna’s, and Ravus wants to kill him, to leave him to bleed out on the stones after all, and walk out into the darkness outside, just walk and walk and walk, away from this neverending parade of suicidal loyalty. 

He drops his hands, his rage. “I don’t want it,” he says, numb, helpless; no one in his life ever listens. “I can’t…”

Scientia raises a gloved hand, touches Ravus’ face, pushes his hair out of his eyes. Gentle, gentle, like Ravus is a scared animal in need of taming, and Ravus can't find it in himself to not lean in. He’s tired. 

“A gift,” Scientia whispers, “is always freely given. Surely your sister taught you that.”

His hand is in Ravus’ hair, tugging his head forward, and Ravus lacks the strength to resist, either the hands or the words, or his own memories. He folds, hiding his face into Scientia’s scarred throat, clutching at Scientia’s shoulders enough to bruise, and allows himself to take what’s been offered.


End file.
